


you’re in my arms and all the world is calm

by misskraken



Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Banter, Blow Jobs, Dorks in Love, Emotional Sex, Established Relationship, Love Confessions, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2019-05-23 04:16:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14926976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misskraken/pseuds/misskraken
Summary: “Is that a Jabari tradition I was not aware of, then?” T’Challa asks, his eyes dancing. “Tenderly kissing those you cannot stand?”“Ah, well,” M’Baku says with a shrug. “Perhaps I do not mind you so much when you sleep.”He makes no effort to hide his smile.





	you’re in my arms and all the world is calm

M’Baku used to be a heavy sleeper. The lovers he took to bed in the past could not have been more different from one another, but all of them commented on how difficult he was to wake, how he slept like the dead but snored loud enough to rouse every deceased ancestor in Hanuman’s bosom.

But that was before T’Challa.

What began as diplomatic meetings to bridge the gap between the Jabari and the rest of Wakanda have turned into something far sweeter, deeper, and more delicate than either of them could have ever predicted. These days, M’Baku finds that he is reluctant to fall asleep, so that he might enjoy his king’s company for just a little while longer, and he is is even more eager to rise early in the morning, so that he can look upon T’challa’s peaceful, sleeping face as the rising sun paints him golden light.

Tonight, M’Baku is roused from his slumber by T’challa mumbling unintelligibly in his sleep. It lasts only for a moment, and by the time M’Baku is fully awake, he is silent and still, features illuminated in the moonlight streaming in from T’Challa’s floor-to-ceiling chamber window.

M’Baku cannot remember the last time he saw something so beautiful.

Before he can stop himself, M’Baku leans forward and kisses T’Challa’s forehead, then his eyes, and, finally, his lips.

M’Baku does not intend for the kiss to last more than a few seconds, but when he tries to pull away, he is met with a firm but gentle hand on the nape of his neck, keeping him in place. M’Baku grunts in surprise, and he feels T’Challa laugh against his lips as he deepens the kiss.

“Careful, M’Baku,” T’Challa says when they pull away for air, his voice gravelly from sleep. “Keep that up and I might start to believe that you’ve grown fond of me.”

“Nonsense,” M’Baku says, with a great deal of mock-scorn. “You’re far too obstinate for me to do anything beyond tolerate you.”

T’Challa rolls over onto his side and grins smugly.

“Is that a Jabari tradition I was not aware of, then?” T’Challa asks, his eyes dancing. “Tenderly kissing those you cannot stand?”

“Ah, well,” M’Baku says with a shrug. “Perhaps I do not mind you so much when you sleep.”

He makes no effort to hide his smile.

T’Challa tips his head back and laughs, and something about the gap between his two front teeth and the pillow creases standing out on his temple make M’Baku feel as if his heart has swollen to the point of cracking his ribs. 

M’Baku leans forward, and T’Challa meets him halfway, kissing him with a fire to match his own, and M’Baku feels his panther strength beneath the silken touch of his lips.

“I’m sorry I woke you, little king,” M’Baku murmurs against the hinge of T’Challa’s jaw.

T’Challa pulls back and takes M’Baku’s hand in his. He presses it to his lips, gently kissing the dip between M’Baku’s second and third knuckle.

“So long as I wake up to you,” T’Challa says softly. “I do not mind.”

For a moment they just lie together, breathing each other’s air. Then T’Challa shifts slightly, and M’Baku feels the telltale hardness of T’Challa’s groin against his thigh. 

M’Baku pulls back and meets T’Challa’s eyes, recognizes the impish light burning behind them. T’Challa reaches between them and curls his fingers around M’Baku’s dick, smirking all the while.

“Would you like to know what I was dreaming about?” T’Challa asks, touching his lips to the shell of M’Baku’s ear.

M’Baku groans, rolling his hips into T’Challa’s iron grip. “I think i would rather you show me,” he says, voice shaking with desire.

“Well,” T’Challa says, a grin spreading across his face. “I suppose that can be arrang-“

The words have not even left T’Challa’s lips when M’Baku silences him with a kiss, covering T’Challa’s body with his own.

Claiming him as his own.

M’Baku slowly makes his way down T’Challa’s body, his mouth leaving a burning trail in his wake. He pauses briefly at T’Challa’s chest, distracted by the stiff peaks of his hardened nipples. M’Baku seals his lips over the left one and worries it with his teeth while he rolls the right nipple between his fingertips.

“M’Baku,” T’Challa gasps, braiding his fingers through his lover’s hair and grinding up against M’Baku’s stomach. “M’Baku, please.”

“Tell me what you want,” M’Baku says as he kisses his way down T’Challa’s lower belly, huffing a warm breath over the head of his already-weeping dick. “Tell me everything.”

T’Challa takes M’Baku’s hand and guides it down between his legs, massaging his own entrance with M’Baku’s fingertips.

“Open me,” T’Challa says breathlessly.

T’Challa’s words send a wave through M’Baku that goes straight to his dick, and he immediately reaches for the vial of oil sitting on the bedside table. He tips the contents out into the palm of his hand and slicks himself, standing up on his knees so T’Challa can watch as his dick slides in and out of his grasp. He then smears the fingers on his other hand with a significant amount of oil, reaches back down between T’Challa’s legs, and then, ever so slowly, starts to work him loose.

M’Baku has never gotten used to the sight of T’Challa in the throes of lust. Seeing his king, normally so poised and gracious, with his eyes glassy, his powerful thighs shaking with need, his head thrashing from side to side like a man possessed... well, it’s enough to bring even the strongest warrior to his knees. 

And T’Challa, it would seem, is the chink in M’Baku’s armor.

As eager as M’Baku is to plunge himself within T’Challa’s body, he relishes watching T’Challa come apart for him, the way he clenches desperately around his fingers as he scissors them back and forth.

“M’Baku,” T’Challa chokes out, his voice breaking on the last syllable as M’Baku abruptly adds a third finger. “If you do not get inside me-“

M’Baku curls his fingers, and T’Challa’s words die on his lips as he arches his back and moans brokenly, rocking back onto M’Baku’s hand.

M’Baku clucks his tongue as he lays down on his stomach and takes T’Challa’s dick in his other hand. “Has no one told you impatience is unbecoming in a king?” M’Baku says before kissing the tip. “Perhaps I ought to teach you a lesson.”

Debauched as he is, T’Challa’s mouth twists up into the wry grin that M’Baku has come to cherish. 

“Oh come now,” T’Challa says. “If I learned anything from your challenge, it’s that you are helpless once I get my thighs around your head.”

M’Baku cannot help but grin.

“Only because,” M’Baku says, “I was not allowed to use my tongue.”

With that, M’Baku swallows T’Challa down to the root, and T’Challa loses his power of speech.

T’Challa is not small in the least, but M’Baku has always been good with his mouth, and the past couple of months have given M’Baku plenty of opportunities to practice. He bobs up and down as he swirls his tongue over the tip, his fingers still working away inside T’Challa. T’Challa’s moans echo throughout the room, and every one of them is sweeter to M’Baku than any music he has ever heard. He grinds his pelvis against the mattress, eager to provide some small relief for his aching dick.

“M’Baku,” T’Challa gasps. “I’m ready.”

M’Baku takes his mouth off of T’Challa and smirks. 

“What was that about me being helpless?” he asks mildly. 

T’Challa hauls M’Baku up towards him and pulls him in for a wet, filthy kiss, licking his own pre-come off of M’Baku’s lips with such aggression that it almost sends M’Baku over the edge.

“You are impossible,” T’Challa sighs in between kisses.

“Impossibly handsome, perhaps,” M’Baku retorts.

T’Challa rolls his eyes, but M’Baku feels him smile against his lips.

M’Baku lines himself up and looks up at T’Challa once more. When their eyes meet, M’Baku finds that T’Challa’s gaze is as tender as it is lustful, his eyes filled with a warmth that pricks M’Baku’s heart.

M’Baku buries his face in T’Challa’sneck, his lips pressed against T’Challa’s pulse, and then he finally, finally plunges himself, fat and hot, into the tight heat of T’Challa’s body.

It takes all of M’Baku’s self-control to not come the moment he’s fully seated within him, and it is the sweetest kind of torture he knows. When he finally trusts himself to move, he pushes himself up enough to press his forehead against T’Challa’s.

“All right?” M’Baku asks.

T’Challa just kisses him in answer, and M’Baku responds with tongue and teeth, their fingers intertwining as M’Baku begins to move his hips in a slow circle. T’Challa wraps his legs around M’Baku’s tree-trunk waist, digging his heels into his sides.

“Deeper,” T’Challa says.

That is all the encouragement M’Baku needs to begin thrusting in earnest, his hips pounding a steady rhythm as he gives T’Challa everything he asks for, and their world dissolves into a haze of skin and sweat and choked-off cries.

After what could be minutes or hours or an eternity, T’Challa’s eyes snap open.

“M’Baku,” he gasps. “I’m close.”

M’Baku grips T’Challa’s dick, which up until now has been pinned between their bellies, and begins stripping it furiously. T’Challa’s mouth falls open, and eyes begin to close in ecstasy.

“No,” M’Baku chokes out, reaching up to caress T’Challa’s face, his thumb ghosting across his lips. He can feel his own release building inside him, and he cannot hold it off for much longer. “Look at me, T’Challa.”

“M’Baku,” T’Challa breathes, his eyes bright and fiery as stars.

T’Challa clenches once, twice, three times around M’Baku, and then he’s coming, his mouth falling open as he spurts all over their chests and stomachs. The slick, feverish slide of their bodies against each other, made even smoother by T’Challa’s come, does M’Baku in entirely, and before he knows it he’s coming too, roaring as he gives one last powerful thrust and collapses onto T’Challa’s chest.

For a minute, M’Baku just lies there, trying to remember how to think and move and speak again. T’Challa strokes his back, soothing the places where he dug his blunted nails in only minutes earlier. Finally, M’Baku rolls off of T’Challa, both of them wincing as he slips free. They both lie on their sides for a moment, wordlessly regarding each other.

Finally, M’Baku presses his forehead against T’Challa’s, their lips a hair’s width apart.

“I love you,” he murmurs. “T’Challa... you must know this.”

It is the first time he has ever said those words aloud to him. But the words do not feel foreign in his mouth. They have lived inside of M’Baku since that night he laid T’Challa, broken and barely breathing, in Hanuman’s snow.

T’Challa lifts a hand to M’Baku’s face, and M’baku leans into the touch.

“I was dreaming about the river,” T’Challa says softly. “I dream about it almost every night. At first I thought they were just that, only dreams... but I remember.”

M’Baku’s heart stops.

He knows.

“Shuri told me that you said a fisherman pulled me from the water and brought me to you,” T’Challa continues. “But it was you, wasn’t it?”

M’Baku’s voice sticks in his throat, and T’Challa receives his silence as confirmation.

“I couldn’t see anything, couldn’t move, but I felt someone carry me me out of the water, and...” T’Challa trails off, and then he meets M’Baku’s eyes.

“Your arms,” T’Challa says, his voice heavy with something M’Baku has no name for. “I know what your arms feel like now.”

M’Baku pulls T’Challa to him. He does not speak; he cannot trust his own voice not to break.

“Shuri also found it odd that a tribe of vegetarians would have need for a fisherman,” T’Challa says.

M’Baku snorts in spite of himself. 

“You’d think a bright girl like that would know that fish are just swimming plants,” he says.

This makes T’Challa laugh for a moment, but then he is quiet again. He reaches up to stroke M’Baku’s cheek, and M’Baku gently wraps his own hand around T’Challa’s wrist, feeling the steady drumbeat of his pulse beneath his fingertips.

“I love you too,” T’Challa says, and M’Baku feels as if something heavy and winged has taken off from his chest. He swallows against the onslaught of emotion and folds T’Challa into his arms.

They lie together in silence for a moment, and then T’Challa finally speaks.

“I feel that I must warn you, M’Baku,” he says wryly. “You will never be rid of me now. If you thought I was insufferable before, I imagine I will seem worse than a swarm of locusts after you wake up to me every morning.”

M’Baku imagines waking up to T’Challa every morning. Imagines showing him every corner of Jabariland, every place he holds dear. Imagines growing old with him, both of their heads silver in the moonlight. Imagines T’Challa, T’Challa, T’Challa.

“Ah well,” M'Baku says, pressing a kiss to the corner of T’Challa’s mouth, joy spilling out of his heart like the light from a thousand candles. “I’ll find a way to endure it.”

And so he does.


End file.
